It is a curious spectacle, watching the returning circus of Donald Trump descend upon a world that has refused to stand still. The man who once blustered through the White House with all the subtlety of a rhinoceros in a china shop now finds himself a minor actor in a drama he cannot control. For while the West has been busy flattering itself with talk of ‘deglobalisation’ and ‘strategic autonomy’, the Chinese dragon has been doing what it does best: growing stronger, bolder, and infinitely more assertive. And our trade negotiators, poor souls, watch from the wings, clutching their spreadsheets and wondering what hit them.

Let us cast our minds back to 2016. Then, as now, the narrative was one of decline: China’s economy was supposedly slowing, its demographic dividend fading, its ambitions checked by an American pivot to Asia. But the Chinese, unlike their Western counterparts, have a habit of ignoring the narrative and attending to the facts. A decade of massive infrastructure spending, strategic industrial policy, and a foreign policy that makes Rome’s expansion look hesitant has transformed the Middle Kingdom into a colossus that can no longer be ignored or patronised.

Trump’s return is thus a historical irony. The man who started the trade war that was meant to humble Beijing now returns to find that war’s unintended consequence: a China that has diversified its supply chains, built alternative financial systems, and deepened its ties with the Global South. The tariffs that were supposed to cripple have instead accelerated a process of self-reliance. The Chinese have not become less dependent on the West; they have become less interested in it.

What does this mean for Britain? We are, as always, caught between our sentimental attachment to the American alliance and the brute reality of our economic needs. The government’s post-Brexit trade policy, with its vaunted ‘Global Britain’ slogan, has yielded few triumphs. Our negotiators, eager to prove that we can diverge from the European Union, find themselves chasing deals with nations that no longer need us. Have they not noticed that China’s Belt and Road Initiative has already created a parallel economy, one in which British goods are merely optional extras?

The comparison to the Fall of Rome is, I grant you, overused. But there is something of the late Roman Empire in our current predicament. The imperial centre, distracted by internal squabbles and a surplus of self-regard, fails to notice the periphery reorganising itself. The trade negotiators who watch Trump’s visit to China are like the Roman envoys sent to parley with the Goths: they go with their old formulae, their assumptions of superiority, and return with nothing but reports of how the barbarians have grown disturbingly sophisticated.

This is not a call for panic. But it is a call for intellectual honesty. We need to stop pretending that China is a developing nation that will eventually become like us. It will not. It is building a system that operates on its own terms, with its own values, and its own conception of power. Our negotiators should be studying that system, not dreaming of a return to the status quo ante.

A decade on from Trump’s first ascent, the lesson is clear: the days when the West could dictate the terms of global trade are over. The Chinese have read their history, and they know that weakness invites predation. Britain must decide whether it will be a player in the new order or a relic of the old. The choice, as always, is ours. But the window is closing.